Batgirl: Year One - Kennedy Harkins (black female authors .TXT) 📗

I stumbled into my bathroom and stared in horror at my reflection.

God, I look like death warmed up. There are huge dark circles under my eyes, my skin is unnaturally pale, and my hair hangs limp and tangled around my face. First order of business: a shower.

The hot water feels heavenly on my skin, in most places. I’m careful of the places I took damage. The hit on the back of my head throbs slightly, but my vision has cleared up from last night. There’s a huge black and blue bruise on my stomach from the robber’s punch. It hurts, but the ribs are intact and that’s all that matters. I can’t see the bruise on my shoulder, where I got smacked with a bat. However, I’m sure it’s something to behold. And lastly, but definitely not least, the punch to my collarbone. It’s got a bruise as well, just as bad as the stomach, but it’s the pain that really floors me.

I’ll just have to avoid moving. And breathing. And thinking about that particular area too much.

As I’m drying off, Mom calls out to me from the other side of the door. “Honey, Simon’s on the phone!”

I wince. “Mom, I turned off the shower ten minutes ago. You don’t have to shout.” I wrapped the towel around myself and reach out the door for the phone.

“Hey, Si.”

“Hey, Nell.” He echoes. “We still on for this afternoon?” Crap. Our movie marathon. I checked the time. Ten fourteen. Still plenty of time to get over to his place. He read my silence correctly, like he always does. “You forgot, right?”             “I’m a crappy best friend. You need a new one.”

“Yeah, maybe I should put out an ad in the paper.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Until then, wanna come over anyway?”

“See you in a few.” Simon and I have been best friends ever since kindergarten. His parents decided to hire a slew of tutors and homeschool him after the accident in second grade. Sometimes I think I’m his only contact with the outside world.

We’re closer than conjoined twins.

I grabbed a leotard and shoved it in my backpack, along with a couple movies, just in case we vote out all the ones the Blackstone’s personal shopper picked out. “I’m heading over to Simon’s, Mom. We’ll just go to the competition together.”

“Have fun, Sweetie. See you tonight.” She said from the kitchen.

I’m planning on taking the subway to the edge of town, and then calling a cab to take me the rest of the way to Blackstone Manor. But, when I step outside my apartment, I see a black town car waiting for me. Shrugging my shoulders, I get in the car before the driver can come open the door for me. Which earns me a disapproving look.

We take the R, Kane Memorial Bridge to Crest Hill. Crest Hill is the ritziest of the ritzy communities in Gotham. Blackstone manor is next to Wayne, Drake, and the Davenport manor. I really love it out here, it’s so quiet and peaceful. The scenery is something you’d see in an expensive painting, all wine vineyards, apple orchards, and beautiful forests.

We pull up to Blackstone manor. No matter how many times I see it, it still manages to take my breath away. It gives the impression of a winery. It’s made of tan colored sand stones, and has a bright green roof. The main entrance has three arches, under a terrace, that lead to three front doors. There are a couple of high window, on the roof, that I know attach to the attic. To get to the attic from inside the house, you have to take the “secret staircase” behind a bookshelf.

I don’t think it really counts as a secret if every Blackstone, since the mansion was built, has known about it.

Snatching up my bag, I jump out of the car before it comes to a complete stop. Something I’m sure Jeeves will love. I don’t bother to knock, I’m expected.

The inside of the mansion is very 1800’s. Even the new furniture is designed to look ancient, which makes the electronic stuff stick out like a sore thumb, at least in my opinion. But, for the most part, it’s a very polish and sophisticated look. One I’m sure the Blackstone’s paid thousands in personal decorator fees for.

I run up the grand staircase, Simon’s room is on the second floor. I don’t take time to admire the million dollar paintings along the way, as Mom and Anna would have. Simon sleeps in a room at the end of a very long hallway with at least twenty doors along it. I’ve been hanging out here since I was five, and I still only know what’s in half of the rooms in this place.

“Whatcha doin’?” I said, as I opened his door.

“Just a waitin’.” Simon answers from behind his desk. His shaggy brown hair falls carelessly into his large rimmed glasses. The round glasses magnify Simon’s blue eyes, making them look comically big.

Simon’s room is completely decked out with computers and different kinds of tech. His bed spread and wall paper is green and blue, his favorite colors. It’s one of the only places in the house that’s not professionally decorated. Simon handpicked everything in this room.

Simon wheels around the desk towards me. His wheelchair isn’t one of those electric ones, he prefers to use his arms. I think he likes the exercise, though he’s never said anything to me.

            Simon’s been paralyzed from the waist down ever since second grade, when a maniac shot up our school. Hitting Simon in the spine.

            I forced a smile on my face, trying not to think about it. “So, what are we watching today?”

            “Glad you asked.” He grins from ear to ear. “You won’t believe what I found today.” He pulls up a video link on his computer and hits play.

            It’s surveillance video of a girl fighting a couple of guys in a jewelry store. Why would- My eyes widen in realization.

            It’s Batgirl.

            It’s me.

            “It’s all over the news, not to mention the internet. Knew you wouldn’t see it, you’re so tech challenged. Can you believe it? A new Batgirl!” The rest of his words sound like roaring in my ears.

            God. I can’t believe this. What if someone recognizes me? I take a closer look at Ba- myself on the screen. Yeah, scratch that. I don’t even recognize myself. The me on the screen drops kicks the burly man.

            Hell, yeah! That was awesome.

            But, back to the matter at hand. Even if they don’t see me when they look at Batgirl. What about my moves? What if a trainer sees this?

            “This girl’s moves are legit.” Simon said. I glance at him. He seems completely engrossed in the video, no trace of suspicion in his gaze. I relax a little. Simon goes to every single one of my competitions and lots of my martial arts practices. If he doesn’t recognize me, no one will.

            Something occurs to me. “I guess. She’s a little sloppy. Needs to guard her left side better.” I can’t talk up Batgirl to anyone around me. I have to be neutral. If I show an opinion, people will associate that opinion with Batgirl. I don’t want anyone to put Batgirl and I in the same thought.  

            I continue. “You know, this has really got me in the mood for an action marathon. You game?”

_____

 

            I leave Simon with my mom in the stadium V.I.P box. Wave them goodbye, and head down to the locker rooms to change into my leotard. The other girls stand around chattering, but I don’t engage. I’ve got too much on my mind.

            Before long, I’m stepping out onto the mat to do my routine. I love the feel of my muscles stretching to their limit, of my heart races, and my feet pounding the floor as I land. My bruises hurt as I move, but the pain is manageable, and I don’t let it interfere with my performance.

A couple of my moves are echoes from the ones I used last night. I can’t help but smile at the difference that context makes. From deadly to decorative.

Afterwards, I towel myself off and head to meet Mom and Simon.

“Great job, Baby!” My mom yells over the noise of the crowd.

“Yeah, you were amazing.” Simon said. But, he’s not looking at me. He’s staring off into space, this strange look on his face. It’s almost...guarded.

“Let’s get out of here, I hate crowds.” Mom said. “Simon, would you like to have dinner with us?”

“Uh- no. Dad’s coming home tonight, we’re all eating together.” Since when does Simon pass up a chance to leave the manor. I try to catch his eye, but he’s still not looking at me. “Thanks for the invite, Mrs. B. See you guys later.” He moves through the crowd without looking back.

Mom, ever unobservant, walks off with me in tow. “We really need to have him over more, such a lovely boy.”

“Yeah.” I agreed half-heartedly. A horrifying thought occurs to me.

He knows.

Chapter Five:

I was unusually quiet during the drive. If Mom noticed, she didn’t let on. I asked her to drop me off in Chinatown. Kairi’s going to be pissed that I missed yesterday. No need to make her homicidal by missing today too.

            “You sure you want to work out? You did just compete.” Mom asked.

            “Yeah, may as well. I’m all wound up anyway.”

            The market place was teeming with customers, even at eight in the evening. Sellers yelled at passersby, advertising their products. They ignored me, like they always do. I wonder if they can sense I’m not here to buy anything. Maybe they just recognize my face, having seen me at Kiari’s shop before.

            Kiari’s cart is closed up for the night, but the smell of fresh fish is still overwhelming to my nose. I walked through the door to the back room, and down a long white hallway that opened up to reveal a small pond, complete with fish, ducks, and flowers. Just beyond that is Kiari’s dojo. It’s just a single room with tan walls and matching mats, but the swords, staffs, and other Japanese antiques hanging from those walls give it an authentic feel.

            A couple of students in white robes are sparing on one side of the room. I don’t recognize them, and their slow and somewhat poorly executed moves give them away as newbies. Kairi is sitting with her legs tucked under her, her calculating eyes watch the students’ fight with predator like focus.

            I shrug the bag off my shoulder, and retrieve my own Karategi. I put it on over my leotard. Turning my back on the other students, I approach an old misshapen dummy. I start out slow, with a few different, well-practiced combinations, to warm myself up.

            As a light layer of sweat covers my body, I add in more complex moves, sometimes moving away from the dummy, using my imagination to anticipate all the different moves my opponent could through my way, and counteracting them.

            It’s not as good as having a real partner, but half of the work is drilling new